


Promise You'll Write

by tuppenny



Series: Scars [7]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunkenness, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Mild Blood, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, References to Drugs, References to Sex, Verbal Abuse, alcohol use, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 06:37:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny
Summary: Katherine's off to Europe for a month. Jack's not sure how he'll make it through the days without her.(Mature is probably an overly cautious rating; there are just a few references to things where I'd rather err on the side of caution than not.)





	Promise You'll Write

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place the summer after graduation.

“A whole month?” Jack’s brow darkened.

“It won’t be so bad,” Katherine insisted. Jack narrowed his eyes at the note of doubt in her voice, and Katherine fidgeted. “I mean, I’m sure some of it will be fun…” She reached for the salt shaker and shook it over what was left of her latté.

Jack’s eyes flashed. “You’re allowed to drink a whole latté, Pulitzer.”

She flinched and shoved the coffee cup away. “It’ll be fun,” she repeated. “Dad wants one last family vacation before I enter the workforce, and since I don’t have a job yet, it’s not like I’ll be missing anything important by leaving.”

Jack leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, not wanting his anger to bubble through. “Still. It’s a whole month you could be looking for a job, and instead he’s making you…” he searched for the right words. “Look at heaps of old rocks an’ shit.”

She laughed. “They’re called castles, Jack.”

He grinned, delighted with himself for having amused her. “Tomayto, tomahto,” he said airily, waving his hand.

They settled into silence, with Jack trying to tamp down the panic he was feeling at the prospect of a month without Katherine, and Katherine trying not to think about spending a month in Europe with her father.

“I’ll write you every day,” she said impulsively, surprising both of them.

“How’s that?”

“Email, I mean,” Katherine said, flushing. “I know it’s not as good as talking in person, but international calls cost a fortune, and since I’ll have my laptop, I thought that maybe…” Her blush spread down her neck. “Never mind, that was stupid, I know boys aren’t into sharing about their day or writing emails or—”

“Hey,” Jack interrupted. “I think it’s a great idea.” _I’d love it if you wrote to me,_ he wanted to say, _I want to read everything you have to say, I’m going to miss you like hell, I’ll hold onto your words like a lifeline_... but that was too revealing. Too much. Too real. He cleared his throat. “I’ll even write back,” he said, proud of himself for keeping his voice so even.

She brightened. “We can IM, too, if the time zones work out.”

“Yeah,” he said, feeling a little lighter. “What’s the time difference?”

“Five hours for England and Ireland; six for Hungary.”

He pulled a face. “Well, maybe if you’re up late, then. Or very early.” The mischief returned to his eyes as he said, “Or maybe I’ll just accidentally open AIM when I’m at work.”

“Jack!” She scolded, reaching across the table to swat his forearm. “You’ve only just started—you need to be a model employee!”

He snorted and tugged at the brim of his ratty, sweat-stained baseball cap. “I ain’t never been a model anything, K, an’ I ain’t about to start now.”

“Well, I won’t sign on during working hours, then,” she said, crossing her legs and straightening her skirt.

“Dammit.” Jack clenched a fist under the table. “Okay, but—every day, though?” He leaned forwards, pleading with her, his body saying what his mouth wouldn’t. “That a promise?” He tried to keep the edge of desperation from his voice, but when she grasped his hand and squeezed gently, he knew he’d failed.

“Promise.”

Jack nodded and jerked his hand back, startling Katherine. He felt bad about causing the embarrassment in her eyes, but… it had to be done. Touching her anywhere for any length of time was blissful agony, and he didn’t have the strength to endure it right now. Particularly not when they were seated on bar stools at a table by the window, where anyone walking by would see his inevitable arousal.

“Right,” Katherine said briskly, brushing the moment away and causing Jack to grind his teeth in unconscious frustration. “Well. I’ve got to head out; see you in a month, Kelly?”

“Yeah,” he said, shoving his feelings aside for later. “Looking forward to seeing your summer tan.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure the fabled Irish sun will turn me brown as a nut.” she joked, and he winked.

“Say hello to the other Kellys for me while you’re in Ireland, too,” he ordered, stooping to pull his backpack onto one shoulder as Katherine gathered up their dishes.

She smiled. “I’ll pass on your familial regards,” she said, and his heart swooped as he watched her words drench the world in a shimmering yellow. 

“Thanks.” 

*

“You can’t be serious!”

“On the contrary, Katherine. I am entirely serious.”

Katherine spluttered. “We can’t possibly spend every waking minute interacting—why do you care if I’m online for half an hour every night?”

Joseph Pulitzer shook his head. “It won’t be just a half hour, and you know it.”

“We’re in separate rooms! How will you even know? What difference does it make?”

Pulitzer’s mouth tightened. “I want your attention focused on this family, Katherine. You’ve spent the entire semester focused fully on yourself, and I’ve allowed it, but enough is enough. For the next month, you’re going to stop being so selfish and give me – _us_ – the attention and the respect we deserve.”

Katherine dug her fingernails into her palms. “I fail to see how this power play entitles you to any respect from me.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “And that is precisely the problem. I’ve tolerated your insolence for far too long; it’s time for you to relearn the importance of family. Of obedience. Of propriety.”

Her jaw dropped. “Can you even hear yourself? You want me to be your little puppet, play along nicely, sit down and shut up—well, I’m not doing it. You know what, Father? I’m staying here. In the States. I absolutely refuse to travel with you.”

He snorted. “Where are you going to live, then?”

She blinked. “At home, of course.”

A smirk spread across his face. “It’s not your home, Katherine. It’s mine. And I will not allow you to stay there.”

She sucked in a breath. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay with Keiko, then.”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Katherine, Katherine, Katherine. You were very insistent on making friends from _diverse_ socioeconomic backgrounds—do you really think that someone of Keiko’s, ah, limited means can afford to support you? You haven’t got a job, you know.”

“She wouldn’t have to support me! Just let me sleep on her couch. I’ve got money—”

“ _Do_ you? Or is it mine?”

“I—”

“You’ve never held a paying job in your life, Katherine. Unpaid internship after unpaid internship, each one giving you nothing more than a line on your résumé. How did you manage to finance that, Katherine? Who paid your bills while you gallivanted around, delivering coffee to people with careers you wanted but would never have?”

“Father—”

“Yes, that’s right. Your father paid the bills. I made you who you are, Katherine. I gave you everything you think you own. All of your fancy clothes, your professional connections, your academic successes—I made those possible. Me, not you. And without me, without my money, you have nothing.” 

Katherine felt her eyes start to well. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not… that’s not true. I worked hard, and I have friends, and they… they like me for me, they’d let me stay with them even if I couldn’t pay them for it, I know they would, they…”

“Oh, Katherine,” Pulitzer said, looking down at his daughter with pity on his face. “Are you really sure about that? You don’t know who you are without money, my dear, and neither do your friends. You’re used to paying for their meals when you all go out, aren’t you? Covering more than your share of the power bill, treating them to coffee? Buying them a textbook or two in a difficult semester? Gifting them a complete set of Faber-Castell watercolor pencils to use in a piece for their senior showcase?”

She stiffened.

“I do read the bank statements, darling,” he said, almost offhandedly. “I like to know where my money is going. I am a businessman, after all.”

“You never said that you tracked what I bought.”

He shrugged. “It never suited me to mention it before. Now it does.”

Katherine brushed at her cheeks and shook her head violently. “It doesn’t matter. The money doesn’t...” She made a frustrated noise. “No. They’ll let me stay with them anyway. I didn’t buy their friendship, and I can—I can get a job at a… at a Starbucks, or a… a _something_ , and I can… I mean, I have a college degree now, I know things, I…”

Pulitzer made a sympathetic noise. “You know academic things, Katherine. Not real things. You’ve got no experience. You have nothing and no one to recommend you. The hiring process is competitive, and you’ve never made a coffee in your life. No one will hire you over someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Katherine swallowed hard.

He continued. “And even if your friends would take you in, could you really ask them to do that? Could you really burden them with the upkeep of another hungry mouth, just when they’re trying to start off on their own lives, establish themselves, keep their heads above water in a cutthroat world? Could you make them finance your lifestyle simply because you’re not in the mood to spend time with your family? Surely that’s an abuse of your privilege.” He tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”

Her throat dried up.

Her father eyed her and pursed his lips. “However, if you want to be that selfish, then… Well. I suppose that’s your choice,” Pulitzer said thoughtfully, adjusting his bifocals. “It seems unfair to your friends, but…” He made a noncommittal noise. “Ah, well. If you can justify such behavior to yourself, then I won’t stand in your way. We’ll do lunch when I return, I suppose.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” she rasped. Her father paused. “I… Can I just have thirty minutes on my laptop before we leave? I told people I’d be in touch, and I don’t…” Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to break my word to them.”

Pulitzer raised an eyebrow.

“I just want to tell them why they won’t be hearing from me for a while,” she begged, finally meeting his gaze. “Please. I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” he said, his face softening. “I’ll be back to collect your laptop in half an hour.”

“Thank you, Father,” she murmured, staring at the Persian rug beneath her feet. “I’ll have it ready for you.”

*

Jack’s blood ran cold, then hot, then boiled over. “ _FUCK!”_ He slammed his laptop shut and swung his arm across his desk, sending an array of pencils and papers and paints crashing to the floor.

_Dear Jack,_

_I am very sorry, but I will be unable to write you every day. My father would like for this trip to be a time of family togetherness, and he believes that will be best accomplished if we are focused solely on each other. To that end, I will be offline for the next month. I sincerely apologize for having to break my promise to you. I will see you when I return._

_All best,_

_Katherine Pulitzer_

He didn’t need to have the email pulled up in order to recall the words perfectly. They were cold, impersonal, utterly devoid of all of Katherine’s usual summer-gold shimmer. What had her father done to her? What had he _said?_ He found a stress ball on the untouched side of his desk and threw it at the wall, screaming in rage as he did so. “‘All best, Katherine _Pulitzer?’_ What the fuck did he _do_ to you, huh?” He hunched over, his head in his hands, and yelled once more. A month. A whole month. A whole endless, hell-cursed month without her, and the whole time she’d be stuck with her demon spawn father, and who knew what that man would be saying to her, the lies he’d be telling, the harm he’d be causing... Jack felt his chest tighten. She was trapped. _They_ were trapped. A whole month of this? How the _fuck_ was he supposed to…

“No,” he breathed, feeling his heart speed up. “No. We’re not doing this, we’re not—” his legs started to shake, and he sank awkwardly to the ground, unable to remain upright any longer. “I don’t want this, we’re not doing this, I—” He forced a noise out through gritted teeth and pounded a fist on his chest. “Stop it! Stop it, I don’t want to feel like this, I don’t—aah!” He squeezed his eyes shut as his heart beat faster, the rush of blood in his ears drowning out the sound of his thoughts. “Breathe, Jack,” he commanded himself. “C’mon, idiot. Just breathe. Stop being a sissy an’ just _breathe_. In, two, three, four…” He kept his eyes closed as he talked himself through the counts his therapist had taught him, the counts Katherine had repeated for him in the quiet of a dark hotel room, the counts he was relying on to bring him back to himself.

“A whole month,” he whispered after several long minutes –hours? Days?– of counting in and out, in and out. He took one more deep breath and rose slowly to his feet. His body was calm now; his mind was anything but. “A whole month without her. I am _fucked.”_

*

Later that evening, Davey watched in amusement as Jack stumbled off the karaoke stage and tripped over his own shoelaces. “Careful, there, Cowboy!” He yelled, laughing as Jack flashed him a thumbs up and draped his arm across Race’s shoulders for balance.

“I got it, I got it, ‘s all good,” Jack said loudly, letting Race walk him over to the corner booth they’d snagged at the bar.

“That was some performance,” Davey said, trying to keep a straight face. “I have to say, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen We Didn’t Start the Fire sung quite like that before.”

“Yeah, well, Elmer picked the song without even askin’ us,” Race complained, taking a swig of his beer. “Ain’t my fault the words goes by too fast ta read ‘em.”

“Racer, buddy, I hate ta break it to ya,” Charlie teased, “But I doubt ya could pronounce all them words even if they played the song at half speed.”

Race snorted and elbowed Jack. “Woulda been a lot better if this idiot hadn’t kept singin’ the chorus through each new verse.”

Jack grinned and propped his face in his hands. “Fire!” His eyes slid over to Charlie, and he reached a hand across the table, clasping Charlie’s fingers firmly in his own. “ ‘S slways burnin’, since the world’s been… been…”

“Turning?” Davey offered, and Jack cackled, throwing his head back in laughter.

“Turnding!” He agreed. “Turn— turd— turd- _ing._ Ing. Innnnng. ‘S been…” He trailed off, his eyes blank, running his tongue back and forth over his lips. “Feels funny,” he mumbled. “Squoosh.”

Davey shot a look at Charlie. “How many has he had?”

Charlie shrugged. “Dunno. Race?”

“Psh, don’t look at me! I got enough ta do keepin’ track of my own.” He scratched his head as he looked at Jack, taking in his friend’s glazed stare and flushed cheeks. “Too many, I guess.”

Davey rolled his eyes. “Ya think?”

Charlie sighed. “Whose turn is it ta get him home?”

“I forget,” Race said glumly, eyeing Jack’s sturdy frame. “We could do rock paper scissors?”

“No way,” Davey said. “You always find a way to cheat.”

“It ain’t possible ta cheat at rock paper scissors!” Race objected. “You’s just mad ‘cause you always lose.”

“I wouldn’t lose if you stopped cheating!” Davey shot back, lunging to knock Race’s cap off and bumping Jack’s arm in the process. Jack’s elbow slid sideways, sending his head crashing down onto the table.

“Fuck,” Charlie breathed in horror, as both Race and Davey froze mid-squabble.

Jack turned his head slightly, just enough for the other boys to see that his chin was now gushing blood, and laughed. “Earthquake! Zoom!”

Davey rubbed his forehead. “Great. He’s making even less sense than usual. Pass me some napkins, Tony?”

“Yeah, sure,” Race said, reaching for the dispenser.

It required some effort to make Jack cooperate with their first aid efforts, but the three of them eventually cleaned him up and got him home. Davey heaved a sigh of relief as they dragged Jack into his apartment and eased him into bed. Never a dull moment with this one, that was for sure.

*

A week later, they were back at the same bar, up to the same mischief. Elmer and Race and Albert were belting out Don’t Stop Believin’, Charlie was heckling them, and Davey was nursing a beer, struggling not to laugh at his ridiculous friends.

Jack, however, was nowhere to be found. Davey was certain that Jack had been invited to come; they’d made the plans in a group text message that Jack was definitely part of. Jack hadn’t said anything about coming tonight, but that wasn’t particularly unusual. If Jack was in a mood he’d leave his social options open, and then, more often than not, he’d blow in like a whirlwind, liven up the party, and disappear as soon as he sensed that he was no longer needed. He hadn’t shown up at all tonight, though. Davey blinked. Actually, come to think of it, it had been a while since Jack had shown up to anything, hadn’t it?

Davey flipped open his phone to search through the group chat, then his private chat with Jack, then his call log. He frowned. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. “Charlie?” He raised his head and tried to get his friend’s attention. “Hey, Charlie!”

“Huh?” Charlie tore his gaze away from the karaoke trainwreck, shifting in his seat to face Davey. His face softened as he saw his friend’s worried expression, and he angled his body fully towards Davey, leaning in slightly. “What’s wrong, Dave?”

“Have you heard from Jack lately?”

Charlie rubbed his forehead and thought. “Hmm. I… I don’t think so. Why?”

“I haven’t heard from him either. Not for like a week.”

Charlie shrugged slightly. “I mean, this is Jack we’re talking about. He’s disappeared for longer.”

“Yeah,” Davey said, a little uneasy. “But…”

“You’re still worried.”

Davey nodded.

Charlie pursed his lips. “He’s probably fine, but I can call him if you want.”

“Would you?” Davey’s expression brightened. “I mean, I could, but he’s more likely to pick up for you.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Charlie said, already pulling out his phone. “Gimme a sec…” He tabbed down to Jack’s number and dialed. Davey waited anxiously as Charlie drummed his fingers on the bar, waiting for Jack to pick up. Nothing, nothing, nothing… “Hey, Jack?” Charlie switched into his telephone voice, and Davey’s heart eased. He’d overreacted, was all. He’d let his instincts get the better of his rationality this time around, jumped to conclusions, made a mountain out of a molehill. Jack was fine.

Charlie hung up the phone a few seconds later and gave Davey a bright smile. “He’s all good, man. Just tired from work, is all.”

“Thank goodness,” Davey exhaled. “Sorry for making you do that; I know it was a little bit much.”

Charlie waved him off. “Nah, it’s fine—better safe than sorry, right? ‘Specially since Kath’rine’s outta the country an’ all.”

Davey grimaced. “I didn’t want to mention it, but yeah…” The boys made eye contact and shook their heads simultaneously. “He’s been jumpy since she left, hasn’t he?”

“Jumpy like a frog on speed,” Charlie quipped, his lips quirking in a half smile.

Davey snorted. “For real. If she doesn’t get back soon, he’ll drive us all crazy.” 

“Amen.”

*

Another full week went by without any direct word from Jack, and, after a repeat in-the-bar performance of the “Have Charlie call Jack and pass on the message that Jack is fine” routine, Davey had had enough. He figured that seven unanswered text messages, two unanswered calls, and zero social media activity couldn’t possibly be a good sign and absolutely justified his presence outside Jack’s apartment at 11:30am on a Saturday.

“Jack?” He called, knocking three times. “You there? It’s Davey.” He waited for a while –okay, fine, he waited for exactly ninety seconds, and yes, he timed it– before trying again. “Jack? Just wanted to see how you are, man. You in there?”

He finally heard an answering groan and then a shuffle to the door, followed by the flip and click of three separate bolts. Jack’s unshaven face emerged moments later. “What?”

“I’m worried about you,” Davey said bluntly. “And maybe I don’t need to be, but geez, Jack, no one’s seen you in at least two weeks. Are you okay?”

Jack pulled the door slightly wider so that he could rest his head against the door frame and opened his mouth to speak.

He was interrupted, however, by a distinctly feminine voice. “Hey, sugar bear.”

Jack’s head whipped around, and Davey caught an eyeful of a leggy blonde emerging from Jack’s tiny bathroom.

“Hey, doll,” Jack drawled, sucking his stomach in slightly and running his fingers through his ruffled hair.

Davey snorted. This was a scenario he’d seen time and again: Jack’s latest conquest leaving the apartment, and Jack trying to leave one last good impression before the two of them never saw each other again.

“You sleep okay?” Jack asked, adjusting the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs.

The blonde smiled and leaned in to kiss him full on the mouth, pulling away only after she’d taken the time to nibble his lip and let Jack run his hands up over her shirt, where he kneaded gently at her breasts. “You know I didn’t,” she teased, tracing the shell of his ear with an immaculately manicured finger. “But the things I did instead were pretty okay, too.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I was hoping for more than ‘pretty okay.’”

“Fishing for compliments, hmm?”

Jack shrugged. “Just aiming to make my contribution to gender parity.”

“I’d say you did your part in narrowing the orgasm gap,” she purred, and Davey fake-gagged. She looked away from Jack for the first time, raising an eyebrow at Davey. “Take notes from this one, junior,” she said, giving Davey an assessing look. “He knows how to pleasure a woman.”

Davey’s face went white, and Jack howled with laughter.

The woman winked at Jack, who winked back, and she reached behind the door to pull a purse off the hook. “See you later, stud.”

“Bye, sweet cheeks.”

Davey waited until the woman had gotten into the elevator and closed the doors before staring at Jack. “Sweet cheeks?”

Jack laughed again. “That ain’t what you’s really here ta talk about, kid.”

“No,” Davey agreed. “But… Sweet cheeks.” He shook his head, but Jack just kept lounging up against the door frame, not giving Davey anything to work with. “Okay, fine,” Davey sighed. “I came to check on you, that’s all. I—”

“Honey bear?” Another voice came from inside the apartment. This time, though, it was undeniably masculine. And it was coming from the bedroom. “Come back to bed.”

Davey flushed scarlet, and Jack smirked, keeping his eyes fixed on Davey. “Gimme a second, okay? I got a friend at the door. He wants ta make sure I ain’t dead.”

“Well, I’ll kill you myself if you aren’t back in five minutes,” the voice growled. “It’s time for breakfast, and I am starved for a taste of your perky ass.”

Davey covered his face in his hands and Jack laughed again. “I’ll be back in a sec, I promise.” He jostled Davey’s shoulder. “So? You satisfied I’m fine?”

“I just thought maybe you were upset about Katherine,” Davey mumbled into his hands.

“Who?” Jack said, and Davey peeked through his fingers to glare at Jack. “Kidding, kidding,” Jack said, his eyes crinkling. “Nahhh, Dave, I’m fine. Really. I’ve basically forgotten her at this point.” Davey raised an eyebrow, and Jack shrugged. “Can ya blame me, what with all I’ve got goin’ on?” He waved a hand at the bedroom, and his smile took on a cruel slant. “Besides, I’m sure she’s done the same.”

“I’m sure she hasn’t,” Davey said, his voice low. “But… Whatever, Jack. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, his face stony. “I’m okay. See ya later.”

“Right.”

*

_Jack (3:42): Hey dinner tonite @ jacobis?_

_Davey (4:10): As long as you don’t bring Sweet Cheeks_

_Jack (4:15): Very funny. No. Just u n me_

_Davey (4:16): Okay. 6:30._

_Jack (4:16): k_

“So… How are things?”

“Fine,” Davey said, sitting down at the table. “You?”

Jack looked down at the menu. “Fine.”

Davey made eye contact with the waitress on shift and she came over, smiling brightly. “What would you like to drink?”

“Water for me,” Davey said. “And we’re ready to order our food, too, actually.” The waitress blinked and shot an uncertain look over at Jack, who was still staring at the front page of the menu, but she pulled out her notepad. “I’d like the pastrami sandwich, please.” 

The waitress nodded, then looked hesitantly at Jack, who managed to look up at her and attempt a facsimile of his award-winning grin. “A beer an’ the brisket sandwich f’r me, thanks.”

Davey thanked waitress as she left, and then he turned to Jack. “Work going okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, scrubbing the side of his face. “Busy, though.”

“Is it just busy work or are you actually busy at work?”

Jack huffed a laugh. “I’m actually busy, believe it or not.”

“Well, that’s good. You don’t handle boredom well.”

“No,” Jack said wryly. “An’ that’s puttin’ it kindly.”

Davey chuckled. “Remember that time your sophomore year when you put all of Mush’s dorm furniture out on the balcony?”

Jack burst into laughter. “His face! Oh shit, his face. When he saw all his stuff on the floor an’ no bed an’ no desk an’…” Jack collapsed into giggles.

They spent the rest of the meal reminiscing and chatting about sports and music and their summer plans, but as they were paying the bill, Jack’s face grew solemn.

“What?” Davey asked. “Is there a problem?”

“I, uh… I lied to you on Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“I told you I’d forgotten about Katherine.” Jack took a deep breath, and Davey waited patiently. “I haven’t. Um. I… I miss her. A lot. Like… a _lot.”_

“Jack,” Davey said kindly. “I already knew that.”

Jack blinked rapidly several times. “You did?”

“I mean, Saturday was… well. I’m not being judgmental or anything, or at least I'm trying not to be, so don’t get me wrong there, it's just that... I mean, I don't..." Davey ran his thumb over his knuckles. "I mean, you're an adult, so it's fine, it's totally your call, it's just... well, it just wasn’t your usual.”

Jack winced. “Yeah… I mean… I always wanted to try it, but… I think I let the alcohol get the better of me there. It wasn’t… I mean… If I’m being honest, it wasn’t even that great, I… they… Um.”

“Please spare me the details,” Davey said firmly. “I really do not want to know.”

Jack laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, no, that… sure.”

“Did it at least distract you from missing Katherine?”

Jack deflated like a child’s helium balloon. “Not as long as I’d hoped.”

“Want me to try?”

Jack goggled. “Dave, you—”

Davey began to splutter. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean like that, I meant—do you want to play video games or something! Fuck, Jack, I didn’t mean— _no.”_

Jack heaved a sigh of relief, so did Davey, and they both burst into laughter.

“Whew,” Jack said, clapping Davey on the back. “I mean, not that you’re not attractive or anything, bro,” he said, looking Davey appraisingly, “But you’re my _bro_.”

“No homo?” Davey’s voice was deadpan, the way it always was when he made his best jokes.

Jack tried to hold back another guffaw, but he couldn’t manage it. “Let’s go play Mario Kart, smartass.”

They teased each other all the way back to Jack’s apartment, and Davey was beginning to head upstairs with Jack when the mailboxes in the entryway caught his eye. One in particular, actually.

“Jack, is that yours?” Davey asked, pointing to a letterbox that was overstuffed and overflowing.

“Huh?” Jack stopped, his hand on the wooden banister, and turned to look. “Oh, yeah.”

Davey rolled his eyes. “Give me your key.” Jack obliged, and Davey unlocked the box to pull out handful after handful of mail, piling it into Jack’s arms.

Jack looked down, frowned, and plucked a postcard off the top. He studied the image on the front, which showed an unnaturally vibrant sunset scene with the city name printed in the center of the clouds. “Dublin?” He looked up at Davey. Their eyes grew wide as the thunderbolt hit. 

“ _Katherine,_ ” they breathed simultaneously.

Jack clutched the mail to his chest and ran upstairs to his apartment, not sparing so much as another word for Davey. Davey started to follow, but then he paused, his foot hovering over the third step. He let it fall back onto the second, smiled to himself, pulled out his phone, and texted Jack.

_Davey (7:50): I’m going to let you read in peace. Have fun. Oh, and by the way: I *told* you she hadn’t forgotten you._

*

_June 1_

_Dear Jack,_

_My father might have forbidden the internet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write you every day the way I promised! I’ll write longer letters as the trip goes along, I’m sure, but for Day 1, have a postcard from Dublin. We haven’t seen much of the city yet; our flight arrived late in the day and we basically just ate and crashed at the hotel. I picked up this card at the hotel gift shop, actually—I haven’t seen any of the buildings in the picture yet, so I can’t tell you a single thing about any of them. Goshdarnit my handwriting is too big for tiny little postcards. I haven’t even told you anything and I’m already out of space. Oh well. I’ll write you again tomorrow and start looking for a mailbox so that maybe, with a little bit of luck, you’ll even get one of these cards before I get back!_

_Sláinte (some sort of Irish greeting that I am utilizing without knowing its precise meaning, I hope that doesn’t bite me in the butt),_

_Katherine_

_June 2_

_Dear Jack,_

_It’s me again. Are you surprised? I bet you are. I did promise you, you know. Have a little more faith in me, please? That’s unfair, I suppose, seeing as I don’t actually know yet if you’re surprised or not… and now I’m too lazy to scratch out four whole lines of text, so the unfounded accusation will have to stand. I’m sorry if I’m being unfair to you; I’ll apologize in person if I was wrong. I’ll grovel an appropriate amount, too. I’m relying on you to be honest, here, Jack. Don’t try to get me to grovel when I don’t need to. I hate groveling._

_Europe is fine… No, that sounds ungrateful. Europe is beautiful! I’m very lucky to be here. Today I found out that “pudding” isn’t actually pudding, it’s just a generic term for dessert. I was very disappointed. Chips aren’t chips, either—they’re French fries! You probably already knew that one, though. The line about “two countries separated by a common language” is true, although I’ve heard that used to apply to the UK and the US more than Ireland and the US, but… the concept holds._

_How do I keep writing you nothing at all? You’re not going to want to read pages and pages of nothing at all. It feels like I’m talking to you, is all, and we talk about nothing all the time and enjoy it quite a lot, don’t we? Hopefully the same holds true in a letter._

_And there we go, another paragraph without saying squat to you. I resolve to do better, starting immediately. Dublin is charming. Lots of colorful houses and friendly people. Beautiful green parks, window boxes full of flowers, and iron metalwork shamrocks on the lampposts. I’m boring you, aren’t I? Does anyone really want to read descriptions of places they haven’t been? I certainly don’t, but then again, there’s a whole publishing sector devoted to travelogues, so surely_ someone _must. I am not that someone. Maybe you are. I’d rather be the one writing the travelogue than reading it, although obviously even the writing bit seems to be beyond my capacity right now._

_Goodness, I’ve already filled an entire front and back notebook sheet… I’ll stop here, otherwise you’ll be getting an entire memoir mailed to you over the course of the next month. I shudder to think of the shipping costs._

_Cordial greetings from your favorite non-travelogue author,_

_K_

_June 3_

_Dear Jack,_

_Another notebook page to add to the envelope! I want it to get big and fat before I send it off to you—I like imagining your face when you see it smiling at you in your mailbox. Oh dear, I’ve just had a thought—do you even check your mailbox? Are you one of those people who blithely forgets it exists and then occasionally remembers with a pleasant jolt that they have mail waiting for them, or one who knows it exists but can’t bring themselves to check it and instead hurries by it without a glance in hopes that it will disappear, or the postally faithful sort who checks it every day in a spirit of optimism that today will be the day a real letter finally arrives along with the junk mail? I hope it’s the latter, otherwise who knows when you’ll see these letters… Though it’s not like I’m saying anything anyway. If you ask my father, he’d tell you that I rarely (if ever) say anything of consequence, and I suppose these letters bear that out. Ah well. At least I’m aware of my own faults, I suppose?_

_Now I’ve gone and made myself sad. What’s the point of writing something no one wants to read?_

_I’ll try again tomorrow._

_Katherine_

_June 4_

_Dear Jack,_

_Today we left Dublin and traveled up to Newgrange and Knowth, which are two very old passage tombs. Archaeologists have reconstructed both tombs in different styles, because the wear and tear of two thousand years left the grave sites in various states of disrepair, and no one knows precisely how they used to look. Both tombs feature some excellent examples of Neolithic artwork, primarily variations on a spiral motif. Again, no one knows what these spirals are supposed to represent –or even if they were supposed to represent anything at all– although of course there are plenty of guesses. Seasons, maps, pure artistic abstraction—invent a theory of your own, if you like. It’ll be just as valid as any of the others._

_All best,_

_Katherine_

_June 5_

_Dear Jack,_

_Today was a heavy driving day. Father insisted on driving, saying that it would allow us to reach places we couldn’t otherwise see and to spend the amount of time we wanted at each place. He’s right about both of those things, although I don’t know if he quite realized how rattled he would be by the experience of driving on the left side of the road rather than the right. He has also decided that he will be the sole driver of the car, given that he has the most driving experience out of all of us (which, given that he’s lived in NYC for decades, equates to not very much driving experience at all) and is also paying for the rental. It’s impossible to argue with his reasoning, because he is correct on every point, but it is also impossible to argue the fact that being a passenger in a car he’s driving is anything but harrowing. I never dreamed I’d say this, but here goes: I miss the NYC subway. Yes. My father’s driving really is that bad._

_I realize this is shorter than usual, but it is a brevity borne of necessity; I’m quite carsick and am off in search of an aspirin and some ginger ale._

_K_

_June 6_

_Dear Jack,_

_Today we saw puffins! They’re such funny little creatures…_

Jack paused and shuffled through his stack of mail. Postcard, postcard, big fat envelope, postcard, envelope, postcard… He tore them open and arranged them by date. June 7, June 8, June 9… he laid them out, one after another, all the way through June 30. A whole month’s worth of letters. She’d done it. She really had. A letter a day. She hadn’t forgotten him any more than he’d forgotten her.

And she’d been right about him, too—he’d doubted her, and he should’ve had faith. Just because she was far away didn’t mean she’d abandoned him. Just because everyone else disappeared didn’t mean she would; just because everyone else always left him alone and…

He shook his head. He wasn’t thinking about everyone else right now; he was thinking about Katherine. Katherine, Katherine, and only Katherine. Katherine had stuck by him. Katherine had made a promise and kept it. Katherine had proved him wrong, and, well… he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

*

Katherine returned on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. Jack knew this because she told him so.

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (3:14): Plane just landed! I’m so happy to be home!_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (3:14): I’m desperate for a decent bagel—do you want to meet at Katz’s Deli sometime in the next few days?_

Jack’s stomach flipped, his heartbeat sped up, and his hands went clammy. _Fuck, Jack, what is wrong with you? Three sentences from some snobby redhead and you’re ready to do whatever she wants? Are you really that whipped? Man up. You were fine when she was gone, and you’re fine now. You don’t need her. Hell—you don’t need_ anyone. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and adjusted his headphones. He hated how her texts had sparked a visceral ache within him, ignited a sense of yearning that he thought he’d beaten down until it was dead. She’d left him, abandoned him, disappeared for a month, and now she showed up and expected him to drop everything to see her? Ha. As if. He’d show her. He’d show her that he was just fine on his own, that his life went on the same whether she was there or not, and…

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He was a good liar, yes, but even he wasn’t good enough to make those words sound convincing. He’d missed her, and he wanted to see her. He’d already confessed as much to Davey, so it shouldn’t be that hard to confess it to himself, but… He hadn’t told Davey about the depth of his emotions. About how her absence cut his mooring line in two. Sent his thoughts racing around in a loop that he couldn’t escape. Made him feel physically ill. He’d tried to push all of this aside, to focus on his work and his friends and getting his feet under him as a newly minted college graduate, but focus was in short supply for him these days. He wanted her, needed her, desired her in ways he’d never felt before, and it was terrifying. She was terrifying. The prospect of seeing her anytime soon was terrifying.

He set down his stylus pen and massaged his hand. _Okay, Jack. Think this through. Pretend you’re not you and make a plan for once in your life._ Right. Well, she wouldn’t expect him to have read the texts as soon as she sent them, and she wouldn’t expect him to respond immediately when he saw them, either, so he had a few hours to figure this out. Or to stew over it. Whichever. Probably the latter. He sighed, tilted his headphones slightly forward, and turned up the volume. 

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (5:30): Hope you had a good day at work; jetlag is killing me, so maybe let’s not go to the deli today. I’m planning on sleeping forever tonight, though, so starting tomorrow I can meet you whenever. Just let me know!_

Was the exclamation point a sign of enthusiasm or accusation? Did he have to respond now? Could he pretend he was working late and hadn’t seen her messages yet? He _was_ working late, actually, although he was doing it in order to avoid responding to her, but… she didn’t know that. And for all she knew, he had a pressing deadline, so… Actually, that was a pretty good excuse. He’d go with that. 

He worked for hours, heedless of the ebb and flow of his coworkers around him, and when he finally raised his head long enough to notice the world around him, he realized that he was alone. Alone in a silent office. Alone in a silent, _dark_ office; the last person out had shut off the light while Jack was still there. He snorted, refusing to let himself make overwrought analogies between this situation and his private emotions, and went home.

_Davey (10:45): Katherine’s home!_

Jack wasn’t sure if this required a response, either. Maybe? His fingers hovered over his phone, freezing when another message arrived. 

_Davey (10:48): We should all go to Katz’s Deli soon_

He snapped the phone shut and dropped it off the side of the bed. Katherine had texted everyone about Katz’s Deli, not just him. Of course. He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at her for making him feel special or at himself for thinking that maybe she’d wanted to go to the Deli with _him_ , that she was excited to see _him_ , that she wanted time alone with _him_ … Had she written Davey every day, too? Probably.

_Jack (8:30am): Sry dude work is so busy rn I cant_

_Jack (8:30am): Mabye next time_

~

“Bummer you couldn’t go to Katz’s with us last week, Jack,” Davey said blithely as the two of them walked down the sidewalk, dodging a pair of tourists who’d stopped abruptly to photograph a rat. “They had a promotion with free samples of their new lunchmeat. It’s pretty good.” 

“Mmm,” Jack said, feeling his chest tighten. 

“It seems like Kath had an okay trip, though,” Davey commented. “I mean, at least her brothers were nice to her, and Budapest sounds fun.”

“Sure.”

“What did you think of the photos she took at the Menyhért Tóth exhibition?” 

“Haven't seen 'em.” 

Davey took a stutter-step. “What? She said she took them specifically to show you. Why wouldn’t she have shown them…” He squinted at Jack. “Wait. Have you not seen Katherine yet?” 

“Why would you think that?” Jack said, sneaking a sideways glance at Davey.

“You haven’t,” Davey breathed, realization and confusion warring in his voice. “Why not? I thought your deadline was last week?”

Jack hunched his shoulders. “There wasn’t ever a deadline,” he mumbled, lengthening his stride.

“What do you mean there—” Davey’s eyes widened, and he socked his friend in the shoulder. “Jack! You’ve been moping about her for weeks, and now that she’s here, you won’t even free up an hour to go see her?” 

“She don’t care,” Jack said gruffly. “She’s just happy ta be in the city again, eatin’ decent food an’ speakin’ English; she don’t care who she sees so long’s it ain’t her horrible father.”

Davey pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Oy vey, Jackie, enough with the self-hatred! She wants to see you, you know she does.” 

“Not as much as I wanna see _her!”_ Jack blurted, startling Davey. Jack flushed and, seeing from the look on Davey’s face that he wasn’t going to get out of explaining this one, he hung his head. “I just… I thought she’d want ta hang out just the two of us, ya know? But then she wanted ta see you an’ me both at once, an’ I… I got mad, I guess. Or somethin’. I dunno. ‘S stupid.”

“Yeah, it is,” Davey said, ignoring Jack’s glare. “But it makes sense, too. You two are really close; of course you’d expect her to want to hang out with just the two of you. I figured that’s what you’d do, too, so that’s why I suggested Katz’s later in the week—I wanted to give you guys time to catch up one-on-one first.”

“But…” Jack rubbed at his eye. “You didn’t suggest Katz’s. Katherine did. The first night she got back.” 

“No, that was me,” Davey said. “She didn’t even text me until the day after.” 

“Oh, so you put the idea in her head, then.” 

Davey looked confused. “I mean, I guess you could put it that way; I sent you guys that group message the next day.” 

“No, but you asked her the afternoon she got back, and that’s why she asked me to go.” 

“I’m really not following you very well, Jack,” Davey said, scratching at a bug bite on his arm. “I suggested it to you, you said probably not, then I texted both of you together in the group chat.”

Jack pulled up short. “Wait. So you didn’t ask Katherine to go to Katz’s the day she got back?”

“No?” Davey seemed to think Jack had knocked a few screws loose. “I told you, we weren’t in touch until the day after she got back. Why are you asking me about all this, anyway?” 

“I think I got my wires crossed earlier,” Jack said, starting to grin. “I thought…” He shook his head and gave a short laugh. “Never mind; it don’t matter. But, uh, gimme a second, okay? I gotta text Kath’rine.” 

*

“Sorry,” Jack said, nodding to Katherine as he entered the diner. “I was busy.”

She smiled awkwardly. “Oh, it’s okay, I know with your new job things must be…”

“Yeah.”

“Well.”

“Yeah.”

She shifted in her seat and swung her legs back and forth before trying again. “But hey, that gave me time to finish pulling your present together!”

Jack’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “My what?”

“You know, your present.” Jack looked at her blankly. Katherine rolled her eyes. “I went on a trip, Jack! Haven’t you ever had someone travel and then bring you back—” she trailed off, flushing bright red. “Sorry. I didn’t—I should’ve—”

Jack glowered and brushed roughly at his nose. “ ‘S okay. You didn’t…” He rolled his right shoulder and sighed. “Eh. Maybe I should go.”

Katherine half-jumped in her seat. “What? No! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know, I just— ah, forget it. It’s… It’s fine.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “So.” He tried a cheery tone. “Presents! Presents are great. Whad’ya bring me? A pot o’ gold?”

Katherine bit her lip and gave him an anxious smile. “I… no, I…” She bent down to rifle through her Birkin bag and pulled out a three-ring binder, clearly brand new.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You got me a homework assignment?”

“No,” she protested. “Open it!”

Jack smirked and flipped open to the first page. “Kelly Family History?” He read aloud, running his finger across the fancy piece of paper that Katherine had slipped into a plastic file protector.

“It’s a writeup of the origins of the Kelly clan!” She explained, leaning forward. “A lot of shops sell genealogical summary sheets for different Irish last names—they give you the family crest and then tell you where the name originated, the important historical things the clan was involved in, the location of the ancestral lands, the famous people who share your name—it’s all right here, look!”

Jack bent his head and began to read, mouthing along with the words as he went. “The Irish surname Kelly is derived from the names O’Ceallaigh, or Ceallach, meaning ‘bright headed’ or ‘troublesome.’” He looked up and grinned. “That’s me, for sure!”

She grinned back. “I thought so, too. But look, there’s more!” She flipped to the next page and beamed even wider.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “Photographs?”

She nodded eagerly. “Look closer, though.”

He bent down, scanning each photograph as he flipped through the book. The majority of the pictures were objectively terrible; with one or two exceptions, they were poorly composed, blurry, or oversaturated. They weren’t of tourist attractions or scenic landscapes, either; most of them depicted drab, everyday buildings. A few showed advertisements, and one was a campaign poster. He squinted more closely, trying to figure out what Katherine wanted him to see. Here was an auto dealership, a pub, a grocery store, a real estate office… He blinked. _Oh_. These weren’t just random businesses—this one was Connor Kelly’s Off License, that one was Moira Kelly’s Flower Shop, here was D. & L. Kelly’s Insurance Agency, there was Kelly and Sons Funeral Home. Another bright smile spread across his face. _“Kellys,”_ he breathed, laughing slightly in amazement. “You found 'em.”

“All across Ireland,” she said, nodding in satisfaction. “I said hello to them, too.”

“You what?”

“Well, if they were there,” she amended, slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t go hunt them down, but if we were in a shop or something and they were behind the counter…” He gave her a wide-eyed look, and she blushed. “I promised you I would,” she said brusquely, and turned to the next page. “I keep my promises.”

“Like writing me,” he said, laying his hand on hers, forcing her to stop flipping through pages that neither of them were looking at.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, meeting his eyes once more. “He sprung it on me. I— I know how you feel about loyalty, and I swear that I never would’ve made that promise if I’d known that I wouldn’t be able to keep it in the way I said I—”

“Hey,” he said. “I know. I know. It’s okay. Besides; you _did_ keep your promise, girlie.” He smiled, and she was certain that she was just imagining the fragile look in his eyes. “You wrote me every day, just like you said you would. You... you wrote me even though you... Well. Yeah. And I... I doubted you, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for that, K. Really and truly. And I also... I'm sorry for... for saying I was busy when I... I wasn't. I'm sure you guessed that I was lying, an' I... you were right. I'm sorry. I was scared of... um. I... I don't... Well, I got a long ways to go, an' I know that. So yeah. Thanks for being patient with me. I really. Uh. I... I know I'm not easy, but I... I'm trying to do better. I swear.”

“It took me a while to find a post office,” she explained. “I wrote you on the plane, and I sent them as soon as I could, but—”

“Stop apologizing,” Jack ordered. “I'm the one who needs to be saying sorry to you. You kept your promise and then some, K. You wrote me every day, and you said hello to the Kellys, and now you’re here with me, showing off your summer tan.”

She laughed. “Some tan, huh? I’m going to have to make up for lost time at a real beach,” she said. “I’m as pasty as a bottle of Elmer’s glue.”

He guffawed. “Yup.”

Eyes sparkling, she leaned even closer to him. “Rockaway Beach this weekend?”

“I’ll be there.”


End file.
